Page 136 of Crossover

The closest minion tensed, sensing the shift in my voice.

“She can blame her father for that,” Vosch said, looking at his watch again. “He was warned to keep his mouth shut.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, focusing on the pain. The asshole two seats to my left glared at me, his hand in the back of his waistband.

“What were you going to do with her?” I demanded.

Vosch’s lips lifted on one side. “This really bothers you.”

“What were you going to do with her?” I repeated.

“What difference does it make?”

“Call it curiosity.”

Vosch seemed to evaluate me. I could see it in his eyes that he viewed himself as this larger-than-life alpha who could do whatever he wanted and get away with it. Just as importantly, the people he hurt or threatened would be in too much pain or fear to ever fight back. Clearly, that was his playbook—one that had worked well for him. And while there may have been other people through the years that didn’t submit, maybe even fought back, if Vosch was still sitting here, it meant Vosch had won every time.

And that’s where his playbook had an expiration date; his arrogance would become his weakness, to presume he would continue to win.

“Human trafficking is a thriving business,” Vosch answered.

My gut roiled. He was going to sell Ivy. She’d be assaulted on the daily, passed around from owner to owner, all starting at the tender age of thirteen.

That was it. The final straw.

With blood pumping in my ears, time seemed to slow down to a standstill. The second hand on my watch appeared frozen as my muscles coiled, and I locked eyes with Vosch, allowing a flicker of defiance to show. His brow furrowed slightly—the first crack in his arrogant facade.

In one fluid motion, I surged forward, shoving the corner of my watch toward his arm.

Vosch’s eyes widened slightly—the asshole had the gall to look shocked that anyone would make a move against him.

With my watch only two feet from his skin, the coward jerked backward, and hands grabbed at my biceps from behind. I slammed my elbow into the sternum of the guard, loosening his grip.

But as Vosch scrambled backward like a spider, a second guard to my left raised his weapon. With a sharp twist, I knocked the gun from his hand, hooked my foot behind his knee, and toppled him to the ground with a grunt.

A third guard advanced toward me, inciting a woman’s screams and a wave of people bolting from their seats.

My foot slammed into my new assailant’s stomach, his body flying backward in a chaotic display of limbs and incompetence.

His gun clanked to the ground.

Like dominoes, the rest of the civilians began screaming as well.

I turned back to Vosch and dived for him and?—

Pain exploded in the back of my head.

For a moment, I thought I’d been shot.

As I crashed to the ground on all fours, my arm bumped into something. Something firm and hard. When the stars stopped exploding in my vision, I discovered what it was.

My watch’s sharpened edge had just jabbed the goon’s calf to my left.

His focus snapped to what had to be a painful scratch, then to me, questions lingering in his vision. I wondered what the poison felt like.

Hopefully painful.

A second later, the man collapsed to the ground. Guess I hadn’t needed to worrythatmuch about fabric covering skin afterall.

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